


playing with fire

by Spikedluv



Series: Lip Service [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Community: trope_bingo, It's Peter Hale So What Do You Expect?, Lip Service Commentfest, M/M, Pre-Series, Trope Bingo Round 5, Young!Chris Argent - Freeform, disturbing imagery, minor Bloodplay, young!Peter Hale - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-18
Updated: 2015-09-18
Packaged: 2018-04-21 09:56:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4824524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spikedluv/pseuds/Spikedluv
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the Prompt: Peter knows he’s going to lose Chris one day, when his parents find out about them, so he leaves teeth marks on his skin, biting him as if he could claim him, make Chris his forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	playing with fire

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [Lip Service CommentFest](http://alby-mangroves.livejournal.com/65822.html) for the prompt listed in the Summary above, and also used as a fill for round five of Trope Bingo on DW for the _rarepairs_ square.
> 
> See notes at the end for my thoughts on the title and Peter’s characterization.
> 
> Written: September 18, 2015

They’ve been doing this for two months now, and it’s dangerous. If Talia found out, or Chris’ parents, Peter didn’t even want to think about what they’d do to them. Peter knew they should stop, that this thing they were doing wasn’t worth either of their lives, but he had only to look at Chris and the notion of giving him up seemed an impossibility. Peter knew he was going to lose Chris one day, it was inevitable, but he’d never let him go willingly.

The certainty of it burned inside Peter, made him reckless some days. He’d pop up out of nowhere like a ghost and drag Chris into the dark basement or an empty classroom, or sneak through the hole in the defensive perimeter around the Argent compound that Chris had pointed out one day and into Chris’ bedroom. Chris would swear at Peter and accuse him of trying to get them both killed, and get even angrier when Peter merely smirked at him in reply.

They had to be quiet in a house filled with hunters, but Peter couldn’t deny that it added some spice to an already dangerous situation. The knowledge that he was laying claim to every inch of Chris with his tongue right under their noses, beneath their own roof, made Peter feel invincible, if only in the moment. (Though that was probably the hormones talking.)

Today the basketball team had an away game and Peter and Chris sat as far away from each other on the bus as they could. They only spoke to one another when they had to, and only touched when they bumped into each other on the court. Everyone knew that Peter Hale and Chris Argent didn’t get along, though no one could remember why.

After the game had been won, after a tortuous shower in the visiting team’s locker room, after stopping at In-N-Out on the way home, the bus ride back to Beacon Hills seemed interminable when all Peter wanted to do was be near Chris, have the other boy all to himself. Both Peter and Chris were popular – though Peter mostly so due to his abilities on the basketball court rather than his personality – so neither of them could just disappear without anyone noticing.

But tonight had been a late night and some of the other players had hitched a ride home from the game with their parents, so there were fewer eyes to notice. It was times like this that Peter was grateful that Talia was busy with her first child and Chris’ parents more concerned with their business (even if that business was the killing of Peter’s kind) than attending their son’s away basketball games.

Peter helped carry equipment to the coach’s office – mainly because it gave him a reason to hang around rather than because of any natural inclination to lend a hand. (Peter rarely did anything that didn’t also somehow benefit himself; he just didn’t see the point in it.)

By the time Peter left the school by the side entrance, the parking lot had mostly cleared out. Chris was still standing on the sidewalk, talking to one of the cheerleaders. Peter knew that Chris wasn’t interested in her, but it made him even more bitter that he couldn’t announce to everyone that he and Chris were together, and that Chris Argent was off limits.

But that would be a death sentence, no matter that there was supposedly a truce between the Argents and the Hales. (Though Peter couldn’t deny that he’d love to see the apoplectic expression on Gerard Argent’s face when he realized that a Hale werewolf had been fucking the heir to the Argent hunters. From a safe distance, though; Peter wasn’t suicidal.)

Peter stuck to the shadows at the edge of the parking lot until he reached Chris’ car, where he waited, seething while Chris made nice. Peter’s claws came out when Chris finally made his excuses and headed for the car. Megan Carp (Peter only knew her name because she’d unwittingly become his sworn nemesis the moment she set her sights on Chris) looked after Chris wistfully, then turned and flounced over to her friends, who commiserated with her on her lack of success.

Peter tuned them out and turned his attention back to Chris. When he drew near the car, Peter reached out and dragged Chris deeper into the shadows. He pushed Chris up against the car and pressed his own body against the other boy. Chris didn’t look scared, or even surprised to be suddenly manhandled. Instead, he was laughing.

“You are so easy . . . ,” he began, but Peter covered Chris’ mouth with his own and shut him up.

Chris moaned into Peter’s mouth, and Peter thought he would never get sick of hearing the sounds Chris made when Peter kissed him, touched him. Peter deepened the kiss and Chris urged him on, sucking on his tongue and pulling Peter closer until their hips connected. Peter nearly lost himself to the dance of their tongues and the roll of their hips, but a burst of laughter as a car full of cheerleaders pulled out of the parking lot reminded Peter where they were.

While he didn’t mind a little danger, and, in fact, would’ve normally considered it a challenge to take Chris into his hand or mouth and make him forget where they were, get him off where anyone could see them if they only knew where to look, tonight he wanted to get Chris out of his clothes, bare as much of that beautiful skin to Peter’s ravenous gaze and voracious mouth as he could; lick him and suck him and bite him until the world couldn’t help but sense that he’d been claimed, even though the proof of it remained hidden beneath Chris’ clothes.

Peter reluctantly pulled back, releasing Chris’ bottom lip with a scrape of teeth that drew forth another moan that nearly made Peter rethink his decision. “Not here,” Peter whispered, his breath feathering against Chris’ ear and earning him a choked off sound. I’ll show you who’s easy, Peter thought. He gave Chris’ hip a squeeze that promised so much more and said, “Are you okay to drive?”

Chris shuddered, but managed a bitten off, “Yes,” that made Peter smirk.

Peter opened the backseat door and crawled in with his own duffel bag – they’d long ago removed the bulb to disable the light so it wouldn’t give them away – and Chris picked up the duffel bag he’d dropped at his feet when Peter kissed him and tossed it in after him. Once they were out of town, with no street lights to give them away, Peter climbed into the front passenger seat. He hadn’t even gotten settled before he reached for Chris.

“You’re going to get us killed one of these times,” Chris complained, voice strained, even as he slouched lower in the seat and let his legs fall apart so Peter had better access to him.

“Just ignore me; pay attention to the road,” Peter said, as if he didn’t have a care in the world. (He had learned his lesson about blowing Chris while he was driving, though, because that _had_ nearly gotten them both killed.)

Chris snorted and gripped the steering wheel tighter, but he didn’t tell Peter to stop. He never did. Sometimes Peter thought that Chris wanted this even more than he did, but then he dismissed the thought as impossible. By the time Chris pulled off onto a little used access road into the Preserve, he was breathing hard, and biting back moans, and Peter had coaxed enough pre-come out of him to feel it soaking through the cotton of his dress slacks.

Peter was hard, too, of course, from the sounds Chris couldn’t help making, the way he pushed desperately into Peter’s hand before he caught himself doing so, and the scent of him filling the car. He barely waited for Chris to put the car into Park and turn off the engine before he grabbed Chris’ shirt to haul him over the console and into his lap.

Chris didn’t protest; in fact, he was already moving, as eager as Peter was for this even before Peter had teased his cock during most of the ten minute drive to the Preserve. In a practiced maneuver, Chris reached down and flipped the seat back as he landed in Peter’s lap, diving for Peter’s mouth as their hips set up a familiar rhythm.

The first time Chris had thrown the seat back, it had startled a laugh out of Peter, but he was so used to it now that he hardly noticed the change in position, not when he had a lapful of Chris to distract him. Peter grabbed Chris’ ass as they rutted against each other, then shoved his fingers beneath the waistband. Chris made a disgruntled noise.

“Are you trying to strangle my dick?” he said as he reached between them to undo his belt, and the button and zipper.

“Furthest thing from my mind,” Peter said, recapturing Chris’ lips and pushing his hands down the back of his pants the moment Chris had made enough room for them. Peter rolled his hips up as he pulled Chris down against him. He took Chris’ mewls into his mouth when his fingers slipped between his cheeks to brush his hole. The next time, Peter’s fingers teased his hole with intent, and the soft sounds issuing from Chris’ throat went sharp and desperate.

“We don’t have time for that,” Chris gasped against Peter’s lips, reminding him of their deadline. “Besides, I’m not going to last much longer.”

Peter growled. “You’re going to last long enough for me to get my mouth on you.”

Without further prompting from Peter, Chris’ fingers went to the buttons of his shirt and he started undoing them. When Chris’ fingers moved down his chest, Peter lowered his mouth to Chris’ neck. Chris shuddered and bared his throat even as he warned, “No marks where they’ll be seen.”

Peter knew that they couldn’t be so careless, but he also hated that he couldn’t mark Chris up for everyone to see. As soon as Chris pulled the undershirt over his head, Peter took his frustration out on Chris’ chest. He licked and sucked at all the skin he could reach, leaving livid red marks that proclaimed that Peter had been there.

He held Chris’ hips tight so he couldn’t find friction, and he turned his ministrations to his nipples, licking and sucking them until they were sensitive to the softest breath. He pushed his hand into the front of Chris’ pants and freed him, curling his fingers around him and stroking him, thumb finding the sensitive head while his tongue worked over an already tender nipple.

From the sharp sounds he made, and the way his muscles went taut, Peter could tell that Chris was teetering on the knife’s edge of release. He gave Chris an extra squeeze on the next stroke, and bit down hard enough to leave the imprint of his teeth in a circle around Chris’ nipple. The taste of burnt pennies exploded on his tongue and Peter realized that he’d broken the skin just as Chris cried out and emptied himself into Peter’s hand.

Peter sucked on the bite, the taste of Chris’ blood sending him over the edge to join Chris. The smell of sex and the sound of their breathing filled the car as they recovered.

“Jesus Christ,” Chris groaned. He sat up and looked down at his chest, gingerly prodding at the bite. “You broke the skin,” he said, sounding amazed.

“Mmm,” Peter said, not even bothering to try and hide the deep sense of self-satisfaction that permeated him.

“Dick,” Chris said, but it was filled with affection.

“Mmm,” Peter said again, holding Chris’ eyes as he pulled his hand out of Chris’ pants and licked the come off his fingers.

“Fuck,” Chris moaned.

Peter’s gaze dropped back to the bite. There would be a tiny scar there now, probably only visible to Peter, but there. His mark on Chris forever.

Chris slapped Peter’s arm. “Stop it. You’re getting that crazy werewolf gleam in your eyes.”

Peter blinked away all trace of the avarice that filled him whenever he thought about claiming Chris, and gave him a lazy grin. If he could, Peter would give Chris the bite. He’d turn Chris into a werewolf so they could be together forever. And the first thing they’d do as a pack would be to gut Gerard Argent and fuck in his blood as his corpse cooled beside them.

Peter let that fantasy fade from his mind. He found the undershirt Chris had tossed aside and handed it to him. Peter bit his lips against a whine when his marks were covered up, but consoled himself with the knowledge that, even if no one else saw them, Peter (and more importantly, Chris) knew they were there.

Between kisses, they cleaned up with the tissues that Chris kept in the car. Peter gave Chris a hard, quick kiss goodnight before taking off through the woods to the Hale house, running hard so he wasn’t tempted to stay with Chris in the Preserve all night. Chris would open the windows on the drive home to air out the car, and stop at the Food Mart and dispose of the used tissues, and then he’d pull behind the gates of the Argent compound where he was lost to Peter until he came out, or the next time Peter snuck in.

The demons inside him were stated for the moment – good sex and the taste of Chris’ blood – but Peter knew they’d return. They’d remind him that Chris was his only temporarily, and that one day they’d be torn apart, and then Peter would find himself faced with the nearly overwhelming urge to claim him again.

Peter thought about the bite, how he’d bitten hard enough to draw blood, how it would feel to do it again, how perfect it would be if he could bite Chris for real. Maybe one day I’ll be able to, Peter thought, and he howled at the night sky.

The End

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Yes, the title references the fire that killed most of the Hale family. As with all my Chris/Peter fic (to-date), it is my headcanon that one of the reasons Gerard turned Kate loose on the Hales is because of Peter’s relationship with Chris.
> 
> 2\. This Peter is an amalgam of the various pieces of Peter that we’ve met on the show: the manipulator of ‘Visionary’, the care-giver of ‘The Overlooked’, the ruthlessness of ‘Lunar Ellipse’, and the determination of ‘Smoke and Mirrors’.


End file.
